Gospel Story Finder

I believe the Lord gave us families so we could help strengthen and support each other. The Lord also gave us families so we wouldn’t be alone. But when my father passed away, I felt very alone. My father and I were close, and I had lost his constant example. It felt like all I could do was cry.
But one night, I decided to say a prayer. In my heart I felt the Spirit tell me that I wasn’t alone. I know the plan of salvation. Because of Jesus Christ’s Atonement, I will see my father again. The knowledge that families can be together forever is very important to me. And I know that we can be an eternal family because my parents were sealed in the temple.

Shortly after my baptism, I was with other Native Americans at a youth conference near my hometown in Farmington, New Mexico. We were told an Apostle of the Lord, Elder Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), would be speaking to us. I had never seen him before, but when he arrived, I remember feeling something special in his presence.
I had that same feeling several years later when Elder Kimball spoke to a group of Native American students at Brigham Young University. He said he could see the progress of the Native American people. He could see them as engineers and builders, owners of industries and factories. He also saw them in political positions and as doctors and lawyers looking after their people.
I remember listening carefully to his words. The Spirit witnessed to me that I should remember them, so I took a copy of this part of Elder Kimball’s talk and put it in my scriptures. I still have it there, and I’ve been prompted to read it again and again. The paper is old now. It looks like an ancient document, but it has been a guide for me.
Elder Spencer W. Kimball, who later became President of the Church, had a great love for Native Americans.
Before graduating from BYU, I read Elder Kimball’s words again about seeing Native Americans as lawyers looking after their people. I decided to go to law school and become a lawyer. I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had to use my education to help others. I have also been elected to several political offices. Growing up, I never thought I would have a university education or run for political office. I probably would have done none of these things without the words of a prophet, seer, and revelator of the Lord to guide me.

I wasn’t the most popular person in the marching band. I had some friends, of course, but I didn’t hang with the really “cool” people. They were the ones who sat in the back of the bus on trips and held their own raucous celebrations.
As I settled onto a green vinyl seat on the “band bus,” the cool breeze of an Alabama autumn slipped in a window and brushed my cheek. We were headed for the stadium, and like usual, the drum section members were in the back of the bus with their rowdy friends. Lulled by the rhythm of the ride, I shut my eyes and reflected on my social status and how isolated I felt being one of the few Mormons at school.
A teeth-jarring jolt startled me. The bus was off the road, careening wildly along the gravel shoulder. I gripped the seat ahead to steady myself. The bus was out of control, and each tilt and sway threatened to fling us into a crushing roll.
We lurched toward the ditch that lay beyond my window, balancing on two tires. The afternoon sun flared into brilliant white, filling my mind with a microsecond vision of my family. I clenched my fists and braced myself for the impact.
The bus tipped, voices screamed, and I sobbed, “Heavenly Father, please!” I was so afraid to die. Immediately my fear was replaced by comforting waves of peace.
There was a thud as the bus righted itself, and gravel sprayed as the bus jolted to a halt. We were on the slope of a ditch, only a few feet short of smashing into the framework of a bridge. I wiped my tears, astonished I was still alive. I was aware of people shouting and sobbing while scrambling for the exit. When I was able to climb out, I collapsed with relief on a grassy knoll, gentle peace still warming my heart.
At that moment I realized I was not only okay physically, but spiritually as well. I thought of a scripture we had discussed in seminary: “And if they die they shall die unto me, and if they live they shall live unto me. … And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them” (D&C 42:44, 46).
I marveled at the calm that had replaced my terror. I really thought I was going to die, yet in the last moment I wasn’t afraid. Popularity pales in the face of death, as do many other things. Although I may not be perfect, it’s nice to be on the right track.

Sikeli Vuli laughs as he tries unsuccessfully to remember how many times he’s fallen in the river. Until not too long ago, an accidental swim was a fairly regular occurrence for those living in the small village of Navatuyaba, near Suva, Fiji.
That’s because if you needed to go to the city, school, or local store, you would have to cross the river that snakes slowly by the village, take a long walk to the nearest bridge (about two hours), or pay hard-earned and scarce cash for a bus ride.
“I have to cross the river many times a day,” says Sikeli, 13. “My friends live across the river.”
Crossing the river was by far the easiest choice, even if it meant using an unstable raft made of a few long bamboo poles lashed together. And if there were more than a couple of people waiting, it was faster to hold your schoolbooks and school uniform above your head and swim across in clothes that could get wet, because you’d probably fall off the raft anyway.
At least, that’s the way it was before the Church waded in and helped the members put a paddle to the problem. The Church provided a boat. You’d think it was an airplane, though, by the way the members’ spirits have been lifted.
“We’re grateful for the boat,” says Litiana Delai, 12. “It’s so much easier to get to the other side.”
The Navatuyaba Branch’s boat is only one of many projects the Nausori Fiji Stake has undertaken to help the youth and other Church members. Finding a job in the area is nearly impossible for teens. Even for their parents it’s hard. That makes for a difficult situation, and the members, like most in the area, struggle to support themselves.
So why are the members so happy?
Because they know the Lord loves them.
“We know Heavenly Father cares about us because the Church is helping so much to meet our needs,” says Makereta Elder, 14.
Stake leaders have felt inspired to begin a number of programs to help support the members, and the youth are a big part of making these programs work. Apart from the boat, there’s a greenhouse, a group of new welfare farms, and even some livestock. And the youth in Navatuyaba love helping.
One sound you don’t hear much in Navatuyaba is the low rumble of industrial farm equipment. That’s changing now that the tractor owned and operated by the stake is being kept in the village.
The 17 youth in the branch are grateful for the tractor. Without it, the Navatuyaba members would have to find a way to till two acres (0.8 ha) manually. But the tractor doesn’t do all the farm work. The members all work together planting, weeding, and harvesting crops such as taro and tapioca.
“We all help on the farm,” says Kuli Qaravanua, 15. “The youth weed and plant or bring refreshments when the adults are working.”
“I like working on the farm,” says Maca Baikeirewa, 14. “It helps my family in many ways.”
The blessings of the farm aren’t just about having food to eat. The youth are learning a lot about growing food and working hard.
“I think that working on the farm has brought the youth of our branch together,” says Tulia Tinaimolikula, 18. “It has helped us learn about each other.”
But, as Kuli says, “the tractor and farm especially help us have peace of mind. I don’t have to worry about what I will have to eat tomorrow.”
As enjoyable as working together on the crops is, it’s not nearly as much fun for the youth as helping with the pigs and chickens.
The branch started out with 120 chicks, 64 chickens, and four pigs but will be expanding the chicken coop. The animals will be split between the branch and stake members. Some will be sold, some will be eaten, but they’re as much entertainment as anything else.
The chicks are cute and feeding the pigs can be fun, but the youth have learned by experience how difficult it can be to catch a pig that doesn’t want to be caught.
When the topic of the Church welfare program comes up in some countries, many youth tune it out because they don’t think it has much to do with them. For the youth of Navatuyaba, Church welfare is changing their lives through pigs and tractors, chickens and farming.
Even the boat is more than just a way to get safely across the river. By charging a few cents per passenger, the branch can pay Litiana’s family to maintain the boat. She and her siblings take shifts answering the whistle from the other side of the river whenever someone needs a ride.
“It has blessed my family,” Litiana says, smiling. “It helps us afford school supplies and food. And we pay tithing on what we earn.”

A story contained in the family lore of Brigham Young’s descendants illustrates the submissive nature of humility. It recounts that in a public meeting the Prophet Joseph, possibly as a test, sternly rebuked Brigham Young for something he had done or something he was supposed to have done but hadn’t—the detail is unclear. When Joseph finished the rebuke, everyone in the room waited for Brigham Young’s response. This powerful man, later known as the Lion of the Lord, in a voice everyone could tell was sincere, said simply and humbly, “Joseph, what do you want me to do?”

As Mommy and I sat in sacrament meeting, I was missing my daddy. He was away serving in the military overseas. At the same time, my tooth was hurting a lot, so I reached for Mommy and told her about it. She held my hand, closed her eyes, and said a silent prayer that my tooth wouldn’t hurt anymore.
After she finished praying—poof! My tooth got very loose and came out. I believe Heavenly Father heard my mommy’s prayer, and I am thankful.Jesse Freeman, age 7 (with help from his mom), Savannah, Georgia

“Hi, my name is Robbie. I’m a senior in high school. Last night I had the inspiration that I need to write in a journal, so that’s what I’ll do. I kinda have already, but I’m hit-and-miss on random pieces of paper.”
This was the first official entry in Robbie S.’s journal. “It just kind of started like that,” Robbie says, “and then it started to transform, and I started to figure out why I needed to keep a journal.”
Robbie explains that he used to think keeping a journal was just for posterity, but then as he read in the scriptures each day and actually wrote down the impressions and ideas that came to him as he read, an important discovery came to him: “When I started to read my scriptures and write in my journal at the same time, I figured out that’s one way you receive revelation.”
Since ninth grade, Robbie had been consistently reading from the scriptures, but it was after turning to the “Pray and Study the Scriptures” section in Fulfilling My Duty to God: For Aaronic Priesthood Holders that he decided to transform his scripture reading into scripture study. He set a goal to read from the Book of Mormon every day and write in a journal about what he had read and about his day. Robbie liked how he could set his own goals in Duty to God. He says it was more personal and he felt like he was doing more than just checking off boxes to earn an award. “I really like that Duty to God is something you do your whole life,” he adds.
“As I studied the scriptures and wrote things in my journal afterward, I would look down at what I had written and say, ‘That is not me who wrote that.’ It was personal inspiration given directly to me from God. I have received answers to prayers and counsel for my life on things that I need to do better. I had no idea revelation worked that way.”

Elder John Taylor was called as a missionary to England. He left his family in Iowa and traveled with Elder Wilford Woodruff.
John’s wife: Please, John, find my brother and teach him the gospel! We will miss you!
When he and the other missionaries arrived in England, Elder Taylor went to the home of his wife’s brother, George Cannon, in Liverpool. George’s wife, Ann, answered the door.
John: Hello, I am John Taylor, the husband of George’s sister, Leonora.
Ann: Welcome to our home, John. George isn’t home now, but he will be later this evening.
John: I would like to return to visit with George and the rest of your family.
Ann: George, there goes a man of God. He is come to bring salvation to your father’s house.
Elder Taylor returned to their home and taught the entire family the gospel.
George: John, welcome!
John: Thank you. I have a message of the restored Church of Jesus Christ to share with you and your family.
Elder Taylor soon had to leave for a different city, but the Cannon family continued to study the gospel. George could not put the Book of Mormon down.
Later, Elder Taylor returned to Liverpool and finished teaching them.
John: This book is the work of God, for no wicked man could write such a book as this. And no good man could write it unless it was true and he was commanded of God to do so.
George and Ann Cannon were baptized a month from the day of John’s first visit. A few months later, three of the Cannon children were baptized, too.
The Cannon family immigrated to America. Their oldest son, George Q. Cannon, later became an Apostle and was a counselor to four Presidents of the Church.

The second experience that inspired me to speak on this subject comes from a former student in one of my classes. With his permission, I share some of his observations regarding some BYU-Idaho students who have not chosen to "stand united in tribute to the living prophet." Although my friend began attending BYU-Idaho in 2008, for financial reasons he soon had to leave school to provide for his family. During that time, he worked long hours at a very demanding job, stayed active in the Church, magnified his callings, and was diligently striving to follow the teachings of the living prophets. Through those years, he observed the following:

"I would follow friends [from BYU-Idaho] on Facebook and watch ... as they were able to finish their degree and go on to their desired career fields. Then I saw something else happen. Many of them ... after leaving this cradle of the gospel at BYU-Idaho, would start to wander. I watched as they started to make posts online or comments in conversations regarding their opposition to some of the statements put out by the First Presidency. They would always reference the more complex issues pressing us today. I could literally watch as my brothers and sisters that I knew here at BYU-I, who [were active and] legitimately and truthfully happy, let their testimonies decay and rot.... [T]hey allowed their own finite, misled though well intended, personal opinions [to] blind them to the divinity of the calling of the Prophet. As this would happen I would see them become negative, spiteful, and angry, [always seeking other sources to justify] their own erroneous way of thinking and why the Prophet, the very mouthpiece of Jehovah, was incorrect, outdated, or discriminatory...."
He then shared the following about his experience returning to this campus seven years later to finish his degree: "I see the same people I saw before, just with different faces. I have heard these young [students] make comments that are the seeds of apostasy.... I ... want to beg and plead with them to hold tight to the Iron Rod, which is not just the Book of Mormon, but every word of God spoken by the mouth of His prophets....
"It can be hard to see a Prophet [who] was raised in a different era and truly believe that he can grasp the issues at hand today; but he does, more than we do. Well it would be with us to take into consideration the commandment 'Seek not to counsel your God' (D&C 22:4) and to 'murmur not because of the things which [we have] not seen' (D&C 25:4)."[3]

(3) In far-off Europe, beyond a curtain of iron and a wall called “Berlin,” I visited, with a handful of members, a small cemetery. It was a dark night, and a cold rain had been falling throughout the entire day.
We had come to visit the grave of a missionary who many years before had died while in the service of the Lord. A hushed silence shrouded the scene as we gathered about the grave. With a flashlight illuminating the headstone, I read the inscription:
Joseph A. Ott
Born: 12 December 1870—Virgin, Utah
Died: 10 January 1896—Dresden, Germany
Then the light revealed that this grave was unlike any other in the cemetery. The marble headstone had been polished, weeds such as those which covered other graves had been carefully removed, and in their place was an immaculately edged bit of lawn and some beautiful flowers that told of tender and loving care. I asked, “Who has made this grave so attractive?” My query was met by silence.
At last a twelve-year-old deacon acknowledged that he wanted to render this unheralded kindness and, without prompting from parents or leaders, had done so. He said that he just wanted to do something for a missionary who gave his life while in the service of the Lord. I thanked him; and then I asked all there to safeguard his secret, that his gift might remain anonymous.

One day my best friend and I were walking around at recess. We saw a girl from our ward sitting up against the fence with a frown on her face. My friend said we should go talk to her. So we walked over and asked why she was so sad. She said her friends told her that she couldn’t play with them. We asked if she wanted to play with us, and she said that she did. A smile was on her face.
We had a lot of fun that recess and played with her every day. Before we played with her, we hadn’t known that she was so fun. I felt good inside to play with someone who had looked sad.
A few days later, my mom and I rode our bikes to the park. We saw my new friend there too. She and I played on the playground while our moms talked.
After we left, my mom told me what her mom had said. The girl’s friends had been mean to her over the last few days. She and her mom had been praying that she would find some friends, and my friend and I were the answer to her prayers. I felt warm inside and was happy that I had played with her.

“My father was a great, honorable, and good man. I have much admiration for him. He died very suddenly when I was fifteen. All of my growing-up years he was in the bishopric. Ten years after he was in the bishopric of the old Adams Ward, I served in the bishopric of that same ward.”
Elder Osborn’s father’s death was the hardest thing he had to face during his boyhood. His brother William said, “After Father died, Mother, Spencer, and another brother moved to a new neighborhood away from the home and friends they had known for many years. It was a lonesome time for Spencer. I lived about two miles away and built a basketball standard for Spencer in my driveway. He would walk over to my house and play basketball by himself. But even during this difficult time, Spencer was always interested in the Church; he was a solid kid all through his life.”

Doodling cartoons on his math and spelling tests at school may not have earned Val Chadwick Bagley higher scores, but his teachers probably had a blast grading his papers.
“I’ve always wanted to be a cartoonist,” Val says. He would draw every chance he could. On his mission, for example, he kept a regular journal and four complete cartoon journals on top of that.
Elder Bagley serving as a missionary in Virginia, USA, in 1978.
While serving as a missionary in Virginia, Elder Bagley mailed in a cartoon to the New Era. The cartoon was picked up and printed in the March 1978 issue, exactly 40 years ago this month.
Val’s first cartoon sent to the New Era and published in 1978.
“In my mind, I had reached the big time!” Val says. He’d grown up reading and loving the New Era, especially the cartoons. Seeing a cartoon of his own in its pages was a dream come true.
Val has been a regular contributing cartoonist to the New Era ever since. If you’ve read “The Extra Smile” (now included in “Fun Stop”), you know his stuff. He’s also done loads of other projects in his cartooning career, including publishing over 100 books, games, and other items. Yet whenever somebody asks Val what he does for a living, he always has the same answer.
“I always tell them that drawing for the New Era is the pinnacle of my accomplishments.” (The New Era thinks you’re awesome too, Val!)
Published March 2003
Published Oct. 2004
It hasn’t been all fun and laughter, though. There have been some major setbacks along the way.
Val remembers hitting his own personal rock bottom. He’d been working for several years designing cheese and hot-dog labels for an advertisement company. Then that company went out of business. He’d attempted college four different times without finishing a single term. He was close to bankruptcy and running out of options. He didn’t know what to do next.
So he went to the temple for guidance. While there, he picked up the Book of Mormon and opened to Helaman 12:2. Val read about how the Lord prospered His people “in the increase of their fields, their flocks and their herds, and in gold, and in silver, and in all manner of precious things of every kind and art.” His eyes landed and stayed on the word art.
“It was an answer to prayer,” Val said. The next day, he launched his cartoon business. He’s been going strong ever since.
Published Feb. 1997
Published July 1996
Val believes we’re all given gifts and that “you get to decide what to do with your talents.” Artists can portray literally any subject under the sun. For Val, he chooses to use his time and energy strengthening others in the gospel with his cartoons. “I’ve especially enjoyed working on anything that has to do with the Book of Mormon.”
For the past 40 years, Val’s cartoons have made you laugh, lifted your spirits, and brightened your days one punchline at a time. And that’s been his goal all along.
“I feel so blessed and fortunate that I get to do this,” he says.

On our devotional discussion board, many of you shared your own experiences of being patient through hardships and then realizing great blessings. Joseph Kemper shared:

It was 12 years after my mission before I got married. It was not because I wasn’t dating or that I wanted to push off getting married, it was just how things happened. I was dating as regularly as I could, hoping to get married. As the years went on, I heard many talks directed toward young men about marriage and family (I remember one by President Hinckley in particular). As I looked at the lack of success I had in the dating world, I started to wonder what was wrong with me. From there, thanks to a prompting from the Spirit, I had a wonderful realization. I was and am a temple worthy and temple attending member of the Church who is entitled to all the blessings God is ready to give. Then came the wonderful realization that God just had a different timeline in mind for me which was just fine. I finally met my beautiful angel queen in 2011, and we have been happily married since 2012.

This summer, my family and I went to Don Arc Beach to join a family reunion. Many of my cousins, uncles, and aunties were there. The beach lies next to a fishing village.
It was low tide when we got there, and I looked around for seashells. I saw something with needlelike things around it. When I went to pick it up, a voice came to my mind and told me to never touch it. I called my brother Ariel and showed him the small, black thing. He told me to not touch it because it is poisonous.
I realized that the voice I heard in my mind was the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost. He warned me, and I obeyed His voice and was OK. It was a good thing that I obeyed it, because if I had touched that sea creature, I would have been poisoned.
Ninianne Emrys Abraham Sojor, age 10Iligan City, Philippines

I recently observed from a distance a couple who at one time had faith in Christ but then decided to discard their belief. They were successful in the world, and they found pleasure in their intellect and the rejection of their faith.
All seemed well until the husband, still young and energetic, suddenly fell ill and died. Like an eclipse of the sun, they had blocked the light of the Son, and the result was an eclipse of hope. The wife, in her disbelief, now felt disoriented, painfully unprepared, unable to comfort her children. Her intellect had told her that her life was in perfect order until suddenly she could see no tomorrow. Her despair brought darkness and confusion.
Let me contrast her painful despair with another family’s hope in Christ during a heartbreaking time.
Twenty-one years ago the newborn son of my nephew Ben Andersen and his wife, Robbie, was life-flighted from their Idaho farming community to Salt Lake City. I arrived at the hospital, and Ben explained the severe, life-threatening complications with their baby’s heart. We placed our hands on Trey’s tiny head. The Lord blessed him with continued life.
Trey had heart surgery the first week of his life, and more surgeries followed. As the years passed, it became apparent that Trey would need a heart transplant. Although his physical activities were limited, his faith expanded. He wrote, “I have never felt sorry for myself because I have always known the importance of having faith in Jesus Christ and a testimony of the plan of salvation.”
Trey kept on his phone this well-known quote from President Nelson: “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”
Trey wrote: “I have always looked forward to serving a full-time mission, but … my doctors won’t let me serve a mission until at least a year after my transplant. … I’ve put my faith in Jesus Christ.”
Trey was excited at being accepted into the accounting major at BYU beginning this semester, but even more excited in late July when he received the very anticipated telephone call to come to the hospital for his heart transplant.
“One year,” Trey said, “and I will be on my mission.”
There were great expectations as he entered the operating room. However, during the surgery there were devastating complications, and Trey never regained consciousness.
His mother, Robbie, said: “Friday had been the most heartbreaking day … just trying to wrap our minds around it. … I had stayed up late just trying to process everything. … But Saturday, I woke up with a feeling of absolute joy. It wasn’t just peace; it wasn’t denial. I felt joy for my son, and I felt joy as his mother. … Ben had gotten up a lot earlier than me, and when we finally got a chance to talk, Ben had awakened with the exact same feeling.”
Ben explained: “Clarity came to my soul as God taught me through His Holy Spirit. I awoke at 4:00 a.m. and was filled with indescribable peace and joy. How is this possible? … The passing of Trey is so very painful, and I miss him so much. But the Lord does not leave us comfortless. … I look forward to a joyful reunion.”
Trey had noted in his journal these words from President Nelson’s general conference talk: “It doesn’t seem possible to feel joy when your child suffers with an incurable illness or when you lose your job or when your spouse betrays you. Yet that is precisely the joy the Savior offers. His joy is constant, assuring us that our ‘afflictions shall be but a small moment’ [Doctrine and Covenants 121:7] and be consecrated to our gain.”

A classic account of judging by appearance was printed in a national magazine many years ago. It is a true account—one which you may have heard but which bears repeating.
A woman by the name of Mary Bartels had a home directly across the street from the entrance to a hospital clinic. Her family lived on the main floor and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic.
One evening a truly awful-looking old man came to the door asking if there was room for him to stay the night. He was stooped and shriveled, and his face was lopsided from swelling—red and raw. He said he’d been hunting for a room since noon but with no success. “I guess it’s my face,” he said. “I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says it could possibly improve after more treatments.” He indicated he’d be happy to sleep in the rocking chair on the porch. As she talked with him, Mary realized this little old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. Although her rooms were filled, she told him to wait in the chair and she’d find him a place to sleep.
At bedtime Mary’s husband set up a camp cot for the man. When she checked in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and he was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, he asked if he could return the next time he had a treatment. “I won’t put you out a bit,” he promised. “I can sleep fine in a chair.” Mary assured him he was welcome to come again.
In the several years he went for treatments and stayed in Mary’s home, the old man, who was a fisherman by trade, always had gifts of seafood or vegetables from his garden. Other times he sent packages in the mail.
When Mary received these thoughtful gifts, she often thought of a comment her next-door neighbor made after the disfigured, stooped old man had left Mary’s home that first morning. “Did you keep that awful-looking man last night? I turned him away. You can lose customers by putting up such people.”
Mary knew that maybe they had lost customers once or twice, but she thought, “Oh, if only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.”
After the man passed away, Mary was visiting with a friend who had a greenhouse. As she looked at her friend’s flowers, she noticed a beautiful golden chrysanthemum but was puzzled that it was growing in a dented, old, rusty bucket. Her friend explained, “I ran short of pots, and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn’t mind starting in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden.”
Mary smiled as she imagined just such a scene in heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when He came to the soul of the little old man. “He won’t mind starting in this small, misshapen body.” But that was long ago, and in God’s garden how tall this lovely soul must stand!3

When Harold B. Lee was President of the Church, he and his wife were visiting missionaries across the country.
Harold: How are you doing, elders?
Elders: Wonderful. Thank you for visiting us.
Harold: It’s my pleasure. You’re doing great work out here.
Before their trip was finished, President Lee felt impressed to return home.
Harold: I’m not feeling very well. I think we should go home as quickly as possible.
Joan: I think so, too. We’ll just have to miss the rest of our appointments.
President Lee and his wife were soon on an airplane headed for Utah. During the flight, he thought he felt someone touch him.
Harold: Did someone just touch my head?
Joan: I didn’t touch you.
President Lee looked up, but no one was there. Later, President Lee felt hands on his head again. He knew that he was being blessed by angels, but he didn’t know why.
When they arrived home, President Lee was feeling worse.
Joan: I’ll call the doctor.
President Lee went to the hospital. Doctors found that an ulcer inside his body was bleeding badly. If he had started bleeding on the airplane, he could have died.
During general conference, President Lee told the members about his experience.
Harold: I know that there are divine powers that reach out when all other help is not available. Yes, I know that there are such powers.

A new president was installed that morning, and there were many who were proud and happy concerning him; but most proud and most happy was a man who sat at the stake clerk’s table, a rural mail carrier by profession. He it was, who twelve years earlier, had with quiet, patient labor persuaded his totally inactive neighbor to come back into activity.

It would have been so much easier to have let that indifferent neighbor go his own way, and it would have been so much easier for the mail carrier to have lived his own quiet life. But he had put aside his personal interest in the interest of another; and that other person became that Sunday the honored and respected leader of a great stake of Zion. As the people sustained their new president, the man at the clerk’s table wept tears of gratitude. In living beyond himself, he had brought to life the man sustained that morning as stake president.

I had been serving with the U.S. Army in Vietnam for two years. Vietnam has two seasons, hot and dry and hot and wet. This morning was hot and wet, just as each previous day had been for the past several weeks. I was sitting in a shallow ditch, too tired to care about the mud oozing into my army boots or the stench of the blood stained water around my feet. Sweat was pouring down my brow, soaking my shirt. The oppressive heat made breathing laborious.
I had spent the past three weeks on patrol operations. Now, with those of my colleagues still alive, I was waiting by a loading zone for helicopters to take us back to base camp.
I thought of the past few days—of my friends who had died, of the pain of those who hadn’t, and of how tired I was of everything. We had had weeks of constant patrol, chasing enemy troops by day and praying at night that they wouldn’t come looking for us. But they always did.
I instinctively crouched deeper into the ditch as a bullet whined overhead. An enemy sniper had started shooting, so this was no time to be careless. Our guards were scanning the jungle, but they had not yet spotted the source of the rifle fire.
The roar of helicopters filled the air and three of them landed some ten meters behind me. Their machine guns opened up to keep the enemy occupied. Fresh troops, our replacements, scrambled off the helicopters and into the ditch as our wounded were loaded aboard. The entire exchange lasted only seconds, and then the helicopters were gone. The next flight would be for us. “Just a little longer,” I thought to myself as I tried to control the urge to stand up and stretch my cramped legs.
In the silence broken only by muffled conversation and occasional gunfire, I became aware of someone whistling a familiar tune. What was that song? It seemed to calm my fears and shut out the war. I listened intently and looked around to see a soldier sitting about a meter away. I couldn’t make out his name tag; he was another private from the company that had just arrived. He continued to whistle—and then I recognized the tune, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.”
I quickly crawled over to him and asked if he was a Latter-day Saint and if he held the priesthood. He said yes, and my heart skipped a beat; I had not been in touch with another Church member since I had attended the Saigon Branch several months before. I asked if he was worthy to bless the sacrament, and he told me that he was.
It was the Sabbath; I knew that only because of the day and date feature on my watch. I had an army ration biscuit and a canteen of water, so I asked if he would help me with the sacrament. He nodded and we crawled out of the ditch—out of sight of the other soldiers—into the tall grass and bamboo.
I pulled from my pocket my serviceman’s copy of Principles of the Gospel that my bishop had given me when I had received my draft notice. I offered my helmet, upturned, for our table, and the soldier produced a clean white handkerchief for the sacrament cloth. Kneeling with my new companion in the mud, I unwrapped the biscuit and broke and blessed it. While I prayed, he watched the jungle with his rifle ready. We served each other. Then he laid down his weapon, took the canteen cup of water, and blessed it while I guarded him.
Never in my life has the bread of the sacrament tasted so sweet and the water so pure as it did that day, nor has my soul been so strengthened by the ordinance. We clasped hands, then quickly crawled back to the protection of the ditch. Immediately, the noise of the helicopters again filled the air, and I was up and running for the loading zone with my colleagues. I turned and looked back, my fear had left me. My brother-in-the-gospel smiled and waved. I climbed aboard the helicopter, and we were gone.
I never asked that soldier’s name, nor he mine, but in those brief moments we forged a bond to last throughout eternity. Another member of the Church had rescued my soul from the horror and despair of war. Partaking of the sacrament in the jungle had brought me closer to the Lord than I had ever been before.
Through a gospel ordinance, we had found peace.